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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015374">The Work of an Artist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylanna/pseuds/Sylanna'>Sylanna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Halls of Mandos, Oath of Fëanor, Silmarils</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:28:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylanna/pseuds/Sylanna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fёanor is in the Halls of Mandos for long years. Enough time to think about his mistakes. Still, he can't give up the Silmaril. They are the work of his hands and his fёa. Giving them up would be giving up a part of his soul.<br/>Then his sons die, each of them broken by the Oath. In desperation, Fёanor fights against his ego to maybe see his sons again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Work of an Artist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This idea has been in my mind for a few days. It did not turn out the way I wanted it to, but this is still the best iteration I can write.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The time passes slowly in the Halls of Mandos, especially for those who do not expect to return. Time did not exist as such in that place. Fёanor did not know if it was a place even. For him, it looked like a prison without windows and walls high up. There was light, but no source of it. It should not be possible, which told him it was an illusion.</p>
<p class="western">He was alone, the only thing keeping him company were his memories.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">As time passed, he started to miss his family. Especially Nerdanel. They had not separated on good terms. The last time they had talked, she had told him to leave two of his sons with her, the youngest ones. He felt guilty now, for compelling them to disregard their mother’s wish. No matter what, Nerdanel had always had her reasons. She had also advised him against the creation of the Silmaril once. Fёanor had never listened. The challenged had been a great one. He had wanted to know if it was possible to put the light of the trees into a lantern. It had been possible, but it had cost him a lot.</p>
<p class="western">The valar were to blame for some of it. Morgoth most of all. By now, Fёanor understood he had been manipulated. One cannot remain with one’s thoughts for such a long period without revisiting certain moments. He hoped his sons would be able to defeat the enemy and recapture his creation. It was his masterpiece and still his heart hung at the Silmaril.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">- - -</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Then a fёa came to Fёanor. He did not recognize it, for it was misshapen. Still, it felt familiar. It drew closer and finally, the Fёanor was able to recognize his own son. Caranthir. What did he do in the Halls, he should be alive! Had the enemy gotten to him.</p>
<p class="western">No, Caranthir was there to inform him of his and his brothers deeds in Doriath, of Celegorm and Curufin being dead too. They refused to meet their father. Caranthir would search his own solitude.</p>
<p class="western">Fёanor tried to find them in the Halls, but he was unable to do so. Even grim Námo would not tell him where they hid. The keeper of the Halls just told him to wait. They would come to him, when they were ready.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">- - -</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The Ambarussa were next. They just passed by, without ever exchanging words with their father.</p>
<p class="western">“You destroyed them”, Námo told him. They were the only one visiting Fёanor regularly. “You used their love and loyalty for you and led them to their doom.”</p>
<p class="western">Fёanor looked at the perceived ground under him. “The Oath was wrong, I realize that now.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good”, Námo answered.</p>
<p class="western">“But you were wrong also.”</p>
<p class="western">Námo remained silent for a while. “And how?”</p>
<p class="western">“The Silmaril. As their creator, I had a say what would happen with them.”</p>
<p class="western">“You would have kept their light hidden, as you did in Formenos, even if it was dearly needed.”</p>
<p class="western">Fёanor shook his head. “It was a bad moment, for you to ask for them. Given time, I maybe would have come around.”</p>
<p class="western">“Time was the one thing, no one had the day the trees died.” Námo was unapologetic.</p>
<p class="western">“I have a question, Lord of Mandos. Why did you curse us.”</p>
<p class="western">“It was never a curse. It was a prophecy.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">- - -</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Curufin visited once. Their fёa intertwined for a moment and Fёanor felt alive for this precious blink of an eye. But Curufin left soon and Fёanor was left behind.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">- - -</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">And then Nelyafinwё was in front of Fёanor. His shape resembled ash in the wind. Something must have hurt him greatly. By now, the father new about the torture and the sins of his sons.</p>
<p class="western">“Father. I have renounced the Oath and your cursed creations. Too much suffering has been caused by your arrogance.” Maedhros’ voice was only a whisper to Fёanor’s mind. “I am for darkness.”</p>
<p class="western">And then his eldest, his firstborn, his heir vanished, this form dissolving before Fёanor.</p>
<p class="western">And Fёanor cried out in anguish, shaking the fabric around him.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It brought Námo to him.</p>
<p class="western">“Where has my eldest son gone?”, demanded Fёanor with all the strength he had left. “Where are my children?”</p>
<p class="western">“The five youngest dwell in this realm. Makalaurё is not my guest. Maedhros chose his own death because could not deal with his sins and losses. He asked me to grant him the gift of the secondborn.”</p>
<p class="western">“No! Please, lead me to him.”</p>
<p class="western">Námo shook his head. “He’s still in my Halls, but he wants to leave this world forever. You would only worsen his suffering. His fёa is hurt so much, I am not sure he will recover. I consider being merciful and grant him the gift.”</p>
<p class="western">“It is selfish, but I do not want him to die to never return.”</p>
<p class="western">“Even in death, you have not learned, eldest son of Finwё. The world does not revolve around you and your sons are allowed to make their own decisions. There is another though, who asked me to lead them to Nelyafinwё too, for the love that binds them, theirs is the wish I will grant. Not yours.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">- - -</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Fёanor had never imagined himself bowing before the Valar, but there he was. He was kneeling in the dirt before Varda and Námo, for his sons’ fates. His love for his family had won.</p>
<p class="western">“I will acknowledge my faults and lift my claim on the Silmaril, if you grant my sons mercy and admit your own wrongdoings.”</p>
<p class="western">“You are still bargaining, Fёanaro?”, Varda asked.</p>
<p class="western">“I cannot change the core of who I am. I am a smith, an engineer and artist. The Silmaril were my masterpiece, a piece a put my being into. They were a part of me. The day you asked them of me, you asked for a part of my fёa. I could not have given them to you the day I lost my father, who was part of me too. Given time, I could have helped you. That was your second mistake, the timing. Your first was to trust Melkor.”</p>
<p class="western">Varda remained silent. “Very well. You speak sane, Fёanor. I will say, we are not without grief for our mistakes. Now hold your end of the bargain.”</p>
<p class="western">“Eru hear. This Oath shall be the last one you shall witness. I forswear the claim of me and my kin to the Simaril, from now on, the Silmaril shall be considered part of Arda. When the time comes, I am prepared destroy them as foretold by Lord Námo. This I swear, before the Valar, for my children. As for my sins. I did many things wrong, I admit. I am to blame for listening to Melkor’s lies and raising the sword against my half-brother. Shall I see him again one day, I promise to apologize to him. The blood shed on these shores is my doing and I will accept any punishment you deem fit for it. My biggest regret is the Oath, it hurt my children. All I ask is you to grant them mercy and not send them to the void.”</p>
<p class="western">Námo looked undignified. “I invited your fёa to my halls, why did you think I would doom your children?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because the Oath was stronger than your might once.”</p>
<p class="western">Varda smiled. “Your Oath, despite your wording, had a loophole.”</p>
<p class="western">Fёanor looked up in her face. “I do not understand.”</p>
<p class="western">“Maedhros and Maglor raised Eärendil’s sons and they regarded them as their fathers. Which in turn makes Eärendil part of your family and kin. Your eldest sons gave away the Silmaril they held, for which the Oath did not specify what their fate would be afterwards.”</p>
<p class="western">Manwё stepped forward. “That is why you have been able to think about relinquishing your claim onto these stones now. The Oath is not affecting your fёa any longer. And yes, we will grant your sons the mercy you asked for. They shall be reborn when their time comes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have the same problem as Fёanor when I draw or sew. Even if I create an artwork for someone specifically, it is hard to give it away. I keep copies though. If someone jokes about me having 'to keep an eyes on those originals' once too often, I may not show them anything again.<br/>Hence, I understand a bit where Fёanor is coming from.<br/>Do any of you feel similarly?</p>
<p>Also, Maedhros stays, for Fingon and their love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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